


Faith

by thayln



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2812304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thayln/pseuds/thayln
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas story written for the 2008 Starsky and Hutch Advent Calendar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith

The auditorium was crowded and hot. Starsky squirmed in his seat and adjusted his sling, ignoring the paternal look Dobey threw at him. He knew the Captain always took it hard when one of the men under his command got hurt, and he and Hutch had done plenty in the last year to add new lines to Dobey’s forehead. It had been a rough year, maybe the roughest they’d had, and Starsky would be more than happy to see it go.

He looked around, past Huggy on one side and Dobey and his kids on the other. The place was filling up fast. It looked like the BCPD Family Assistance Association would make a good bit off the concert this year.

"I still can’t believe His Blondness actually agreed to sing this time." Huggy was his usual colorful self in a dark green suit and red vest. "He’s not usually overflowing with the Christmas spirit, if you know what I mean."

Starsky watched Edith Dobey help Jack Forest’s widow and kids find seats a few rows up and blinked away a flash of Lonnie Craig’s face. Edith had replaced Phil Corman’s wife as president of the Association after Hutch had been forced to shoot Corman earlier in the year.

"Yeah." Starsky fiddled with his program. "You never can tell with Hutch. Actually, I didn’t know he was gonna sing myself till a couple of days ago." He tugged at his collar. Bad enough that he was still stuck with the sling, but now his suit jacket was making him itch. He looked at his watch; it was already eight minutes past curtain time.

As if in response, the lights began to dim, and the last of the stragglers found seats. Chatter died down as everyone looked expectantly toward the curtained stage. The silence grew, became a single held breath. Then sound, men’s voices swelling in unaccompanied harmony, an ancient carol in plainsong filled the air. The curtain swept aside and revealed a dozen officers of the law in dress blues, each holding a single lit candle and singing of hope. And in the middle was Hutch, standing tall, with a new commendation on his breast and candlelight in his hair.

Starsky’s eyes burned. Hutch, who was usually shy about singing in public, looked so self-assured up there, standing shoulder to shoulder with his colleagues. It had taken so long for that confidence to return. At times Starsky was afraid Hutch would never really be able to get past what the heroin had done, never be able to fully trust himself again. But that night in the Italian restaurant had forced Hutch to face down his demon of self-doubt. And he’d done it. He’d almost single-handedly taken on two hired killers and won, saving the lives of his partner and seven other people, eight if you counted Vic Monte, which, frankly, Starsky wasn’t sure he did.

He couldn’t shake the image of Hutch leaning against the restaurant office wall, bowed under the weight of all those lives. Hutch had thought he was out of it, but Starsky had seen and felt a surge of anger at his own helplessness. A sick feeling that had nothing to do with his physical wounds had curled through his gut. There was something obscene in his inability to back up his partner, a warp in the basic fabric of his existence. The one sharp point of clarity in that whole night had been when he’d heard the shots from the other room and thought that Hutch’d been killed. If that night had ended differently… But no, it hadn’t ended differently. It had ended the way it should have, and any other possibility wasn’t worth imagining.

Starsky brought his attention back to the present and the stage as the song finished. All the men blew their candles out at one time, and the lights came up on the other side of the stage to highlight a small band that moved into a jazzy version of another old favorite. Starsky relaxed and settled back into his seat. He let the music lead his mind to happier memories of childhood. Those early Hanukkahs in New York, with the cold and slush and the scent of damp wool and tobacco steaming out of his father’s coat as they’d walked to temple. And later, the strangely warm winters of California mixed with real Christmas trees and walks on the beach and Bing Crosby. The warmth of his Aunt’s enveloping hugs and the gruff Protestant kindness of his Uncle.

He remembered sitting at the kitchen table with the menorah glowing in the window, helping his Aunt make gingerbread cookies while his Uncle had read them choice bits out of the news. Funny, but no cookies had ever tasted better than those slightly blackened stars and subtly misshapen soldiers that had come out of his Aunt’s oven.

And later, there were the presents, gaily wrapped and piled under the tree. They’d definitely spoiled him those first couple of years after he’d moved in, not that any amount of baseball gloves or trains could ease the hurt of loss. But still, Starsky had fallen in love with Christmas; loved it still. And he tried every year to infect his strangely reluctant partner with his own joy in all the jumbled traditions.

He’d been more successful this year, blatantly using his injury to suck Hutch into the festivities. All he’d had to do was rub his shoulder to get a grumbling Hutch to sit at his kitchen table and help wrap presents for Starsky’s family. He’d plied him with beer and stories till Hutch had fallen under the spell. Starsky had watched in fascination as those deft fingers manipulated paper with origami-like precision and carefully not wondered if they would move over his skin with the same degree of skill.

The potential had always been between them, since the beginning, a buzz of awareness that was known and accepted, but never to be acted on. They had too much to lose, and women were too easy to come by to make it worth the risk. But still, it was there, adding a certain spice to their relationship that helped take the edge off some of the intense situations they found themselves in. They’d played with it a little, one or the other of them would push the envelope with a look or a smile designed to make his partner wonder, but someone always backed off before it went too far, and the line remained, smudged, but there.

But it was harder now. Hard not to pull Hutch closer at every opportunity, to feel a trace of that same fierce energy that had sheltered him in that restaurant office. Hard not to imagine that energy unleashed in bed. Hard not to ache for it. The line was smudging further, chalk drifting in the wind of circumstance. And all the warnings and inhibitions of Starsky’s upbringing were fading away, erased by a kind of hunger he was beginning to realize wouldn’t be as easily satisfied as it had in the past. But he had no idea what the hell to do about it, and even less of an idea how Hutch would respond if he did cross the line.

Starsky jumped a little as the auditorium exploded with applause and the house lights came back up. He brought his own hands up to clap, ignoring the sharp look Huggy threw him, and stood and stretched, glad to be out of the uncomfortable seat.

He cast a sympathetic glance at Dobey next to him. "Guess this place was built when people weren’t so tall, huh."

Dobey grunted and started to herd his children to the end of the aisle. Starsky turned back to Huggy who was working his way toward the other end.

"You gonna split?"

"You got it. Gonna be heavy trade tonight, and besides, wouldn’t do to be seen hobnobbing too long with all this blue, if you get my drift."

"Whatsa matter, Hug? Worried about your reputation?"

"Uh huh, you know it. Catch you on the flip side, Starsky my man, and uh, tell Hutch he done good, okay?"

"Yeah, Hug. Later." Starsky chuckled and shook his head as he watched Huggy sidle through the throng and disappear. He took his own time moving through the crowd, stopping to chat and flirt and make light of his injury. He caught up with the Dobeys at the door and gave Edith a hug and a peck on the cheek just to make Rosie giggle and the Captain glare before he made his escape down the brick steps to the parking lot.

It was barely after five, but the sun was already almost gone, just an orange glow on the smoggy horizon. There was a slight breeze, and a couple of leaves were chasing each other’s tails under a street light. It was chilly enough that Starsky was glad of the jacket that had been too warm inside, and it looked like it might rain later.

Starsky leaned against the Torino as he waited on Hutch. Despite his shoulder he just felt good. Tonight they were going to dinner with the guys from the concert and their families. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Hutch had it off since he was working Christmas day.

Starsky wouldn’t be released back to duty for at least a week, yet. Probably just in time for Hutch to get caught up on all the paperwork. Starsky grinned. Then he saw Hutch come around the corner of the building with a boisterous group, carrying his dress blues over his shoulder in a dry-cleaner bag, and the sight of him caught Starsky off guard again.

Hutch was simply walking toward him across the parking lot with his usual easy stride, yet Starsky was suddenly as fascinated as if his partner were a solitary dancer on stage, moving powerfully through the cones of sodium light. Starsky forced himself to turn and get in the car, reaching over awkwardly to unlock the door so Hutch could get in. He didn’t look over as Hutch tossed his uniform in the back and slid in next to him, bringing with him a faint whiff of good cologne.

"Starsk?"

"Yeah?" Starsky looked out the side window at some of the other guys still giving each other shit. Hutch sighed, "Starsky, I know you don’t like me driving your car, but we’re gonna have trouble getting anywhere if you don’t give me the keys."

"Huh? Oh yeah." Starsky squirmed and dug his keys out of his jeans pocket and handed them across his body into Hutch’s waiting hand without letting their fingers brush. He settled back against the seat with studied nonchalance, but Hutch still picked up on his discomfort.

"You know, Starsk, we could’ve taken my car, but you’re the one that said he wouldn’t be caught dead—"

"It’s okay, Hutch. I just forgot is all. Lighten up. I was just still caught up in all that beautiful music."

"Yeah, right."

"No, really." Starsky turned and looked at his partner’s profile. "You did good today, Hutch. It sounded real good. Even Huggy said so."

Hutch gave him an uncertain sideways glance. "Okay, thanks." He started the car, easing it out of the lot into the street.

Starsky couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought Hutch had turned a little pink. He felt a surge of pure affection, and he relaxed into it, grateful for its familiarity. He looked out the windows at the Christmas displays as Hutch drove, and their usual easy silence settled like snow under the hum of the Torino.

*********

 

Dinner had been tasty and noisy and full of good cheer, but it was a relief when the restaurant door closed out the crowd and it was just the two of them again. It had sprinkled a little while they were eating, but the cool air felt great against Starsky’s face. He took a deep breath and adjusted the infernal sling.

"Starsk? You okay?"

Starsky turned to his partner, hating the worry in his voice. "Yeah, just kinda hot in there. Want to walk a little before we go home?" He withstood the searching look Hutch gave him until Hutch finally nodded his head.

"Okay, sure. If you want."

They strolled down the sidewalk, looking in the shop windows, not talking much. Hutch had been kinda quiet all through dinner, though he’d been quick enough to smile, but Starsky knew better than to push his partner for his thoughts.

After awhile they came across a small playground with a few trees throwing shadows across swings and a jungle gym. Someone had haphazardly thown strings of colored lights in the trees and bushes, and they blinked independently, marking a rhythm only they heard.

Starsky headed right for the swings. They had long chains and wide wooden seats so even adults could fit on them comfortably. He plopped himself down, ignoring the damp under his butt, pulled his arm out of the sling and began to swing lazily. His shoulder never even twinged. Good. He looked over at Hutch and grinned in challenge. Hutch shook his head but moved over and took the next swing, grimacing as the wet soaked into the seat of his pants. He didn't try to swing, but rocked back and forth a little. It was so quiet that all Starsky could hear was the groan and clink of the chains. Strange how you could still find these small pockets of silence in the heart of the busiest cities. Starsky lay back flat and watched the lights blinking in the branches overhead as he swung.

"You know, I asked my Great Aunt Ellen once how the lights knew when to blink, what pattern they were following. She told me they listened to the songs of angels and followed along."

Hutch huffed.

"No really. If you listen hard enough and watch the patterns they make then you might be able to hear the angels singing."

Hutch was silent, and Starsky sat up and stopped the swing. "What, you don't believe me?"

"Starsky, Christmas lights are just a holdover from pagan solstice celebrations." Hutch grew quiet then and his eyes distant. "I told my Dad that once. Called him a hypocrite for dragging me out to help him decorate the trees in front of the church every year. Said the lights were just another thing the Christians had stolen from other cultures to suck them into their religion."

"Wow." Starsky's voice was quiet. It wasn’t often that Hutch talked about his family. "That took some guts."

Hutch shrugged. "I was fifteen."

"What happened? Did he get mad?"

Hutch shook his head. "No. He just looked at me for a long time, and then he said that the lights were simply a symbol of faith. And whether the lights represented faith that the sun would return, or that the oil would last eight days, or that God's only child had come to save us from our sins didn’t really matter. It was the faith itself that was most important."

"Your Dad was a wise man."

Hutch looked over at him, surprised. "Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes." He looked down at his hands, and Starsky couldn’t see his eyes for the fringe of lash covering them. "Maybe he was right about everything."

"Right about what?"

Hutch didn’t look up. "He never forgave me for picking up a gun. Said if I really wanted to help people then I should have stayed in med school or gone into the ministry like him." His thumb started rubbing circular patterns over a gun callus on his hand. "If I'd never picked up a gun, then Phil Corman would still be alive."

"And me and a whole restaurant of other people would be dead."

Hutch did look up then, and Starsky pulled himself up and walked over to Hutch's swing. He placed his hands on the chains above Hutch's hands and crouched down till they were face to face.

"Hutch, all we can do is make the best choices we can and have faith that somehow it’ll all work out the way it should. He moved even closer so Hutch couldn't avoid him. "And I know where I place my faith."

He watched as understanding washed doubt out of Hutch’s face, and the lines in his forehead smoothed out. Hutch finally smiled and nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Starsky suddenly realized how close they were. Tendrils of heat, of Hutch's scent reached out for him, twined around him. He felt a little dizzy. Without knowing, he'd moved even closer, still holding Hutch’s eyes. They were very close now, barely a hairsbreadth from touch and Starsky could just see the dawning of something in Hutch that made his pulse race. Just for a moment Starsky let his eyes drift down to Hutch’s lips, blatantly studying them before looking back up. Hutch didn’t glance away, meeting his gaze gamely, but a kind of tight wariness had replaced potential heat, and so Starsky pushed back disappointment and started to stand.

"Hey." Hutch’s voice was soft. "What’s going on, partner?"

"I’m not... I don’t..." Starsky dared a peek into Hutch’s concerned face. "Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like? Wondered if we’re missing something important?"

Hutch’s eyes slammed closed for a moment, but when he opened them all his emotional shutters had been flung back, and Starsky’s breath caught in his chest as Hutch spoke. "Of course I have, but, you know, it’s—"

"Dangerous. Yeah, I’ve been telling myself that for a long time. That it wasn’t worth the risk, but lately it’s—"

"It's gotten harder." Hutch swallowed hard.

"Yeah." Starsky’s heart sped up. "This last year has been so shitty, and lately I don’t know, I just... I almost... I mean I thought—"

"I thought I was gonna lose you." Hutch’s voice shook almost as much as the hand that reached out for Starsky’s shoulder to lay warm against the still healing hurt.

And god, it was so scary to talk about this stuff. They never talked about this stuff. It was like bad juju or something. But still...

"Hutch, what if..." Starsky’s voice was shaking too much to continue, but he pushed helplessly forward, pressing against that so warm hand. And Hutch was shaking his head no, but that hand curled around and over Starsky’s shoulder and pulled him forward into the warmth of Hutch’s body. Starsky’s head fell forward into the crook of Hutch’s neck, and the hand moved into his hair, and the other came around to stroke up and down his back, and there was that energy that Starsky’d craved. It was all around him and he let himself relax into it, and breathe it in. And it was so good and so comfortable, and maybe this was enough. If he could just stay here like this, maybe it would be enough.

But then Hutch’s head tilted forward a little, and his lips moved against Starsky’s ear sending heat sheeting through him. "You know, your knees are getting all muddy."

Damn it, now his eyes were burning again, but he laughed and looked up into Hutch’s beautiful, worn, smiling face. "I don’t give a damn." And he pulled Hutch forward into a kiss, and knew, finally, that they were indeed missing something important. And no, it would never be enough. But it was something they could work towards, and as he felt Hutch whisper words of love and need against his mouth he had faith that they would.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thousands of thanks to Nik Ditty for a speedy and exacting beta. Any remaining mistakes are all my very own.


End file.
